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Archive for the ‘Nonsense’ Category

So, like, wow, you have a myspace.

It just warms my heart to have you send me links to it, where I can see photos of you in various poses, pouting and finally being the fabulous international model you always hoped you would be.

And the blurb about you! The ingenuity! You say all these things that are witty and insightful, notions about life and pop culture, interspersed with things you love that make you somehow more unique and interesting than the 2 million plus other fools on the web right now. It is as though you are pointing that telescope right back at yourself, not taking yourself too seriously, when really you are just trying desperately to be cool so that you can get 15 more people to be your “friend” and litter your page with their equally inane comments on life and how hot your hair is right now.

Don’t forget to include a few well-chosen videos of yourself doing things and laughing, so that people will know how much fun you are to have around. And most importantly, have a music player that gives the website visitor no choice, but blasts out a song at high volume. It is akin to aural rape. It is downright rude.

After all your efforts to make yourself appealing, individual and hipster on your little slice of the interweb, you just come across as self-obsessed, self-absorbed, over-rated, desperately unfunny, shallow and – terribly sorry to say this – average.

Enjoy your mediocrity!

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To the message board know-it-all,

Seriously. Do you have a job? A family? A life at all? Is it just me or have you decided for whatever sick and twisted reason that you must lie in wait until I post something so that you might contradict me at every turn?

Unfortunately for you, your plan has not worked. Others on the message board do not view you as intelligent or having anything of value to offer. They see you as desperate for attention and an overall B****. Even more unfortunate is that when you do manage to come up with an original idea or valid viewpoint, it’s not taken seriously because of the tremendous amount of time you spend trying to discredit everyone else.

Unlike you, M.B.K.I.A. – I’d rather be happy than right. By all means, continue to make a gigantic a** out of yourself on a regular basis. You’re giving the rest of us plenty of fodder for our private conversations. Others have been brought together by a mutual dislike for you. That’s right. You heard me. We can’t stand you and we enjoy talking about exactly how much we look forward to your next display of idiocy. So, I suppose I owe you a huge debt of thanks for the entertainment value of your presence. NAH. I still think you’re a raving B*** and I hope you fall face first into a Volcano.

Yours with a splash of venom and a cherry on top,

Creative Freakin’ Genius-a-saurus

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Amy, goddess of decisiveness. 

I have had this conversation or one almost identical more times than Scott Stapp has been called a douche, and if I have to have it again my head may explode. I have had this conversation with ex-boyfriends, first dates, workplace lunch pals, friends, and brothers. I am officially taking a stand and refusing to participate ever again.

Me: So, where do you want to eat?
Other Person: Um, I don’t care, wherever…
Me: Chipotle?
Other Person: No, I hate Mexican.
Me: So, El Vacero is out too?
Other Person: Yea.
Me: Subway?
Other Person: No, I had a sandwich for dinner last night.
Me: House of Japan?
Other Person: Too expensive.
Me: City BBQ?
Other Person: Gross!
Me: Chick Filet?
Other Person: I don’t go there on principal remember?
Me: Oh yea, they put that church flyer in your bag that one time. Hummm… BW3?
Other Person: No, I’m boycotting them.
Me: Okay, so McDonalds again?
Other Person: Sure!

If anyone ever asks you where do you want to eat and you say “I don’t care” you relinquish all veto rights when a suggestion is made!

Rantasaurus Says: Yeah dude, wherever you want. Oh. Actually. You know what? I’m thinkin’ delicious Arby’s. No. I don’t want to go anywhere else. Actually, shit. I had Arby’s a few days ago. How about… oh. I think I actually have to meet my Mom for dinner anyways.

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Dear Mister Finch,

I do remember with distinct clarity the day you appeared upon my window sill. It was the last hard rain of April, a brilliant full-arc rainbow materialized upon the verdant green hills surrounding my home, then, as if from some romantic line of poetry or sweet lyric from a song, you landed outside The Number Two Window (of Four) which lines my home office vista.

Beautiful and Poignant: a small brown and gray bird, sharing my space. Peering at me. Even Charming. So much so that when I told my father, he commented that you must be a Messenger of some kind, here to tell me some tale. A friend said that you appeared to mark a new path in my life, a true Harbinger.

That was the first day we were together: me pecking away at my keyboard, and you joining in, pecking away at the glass like something out of Mary Freakin’ Poppins.

It is now almost July.

Please go away.

Or for the love of God, stop your infernal rapping in the middle of my slumber! And tell me why and how you discovered the location of my bedroom window?! On the opposite side
of my house?!

The only one which I cannot open, for if I indeed could open it, i would lace bread crumbs with poison for you to mistakenly feed on!

Go away!

Do you migrate?

Please don’t tell me I must wait for winter.

Please don’t tell me that was you who did that on my windshield either.

I don’t want to get a cat.

I hate cats.

R. Dario

Rantasaurus Says: Our very talented graphic artist, ladies and gentlemen, has quite the poetic streak. Nice use of flowery language, Rob, to mislead us as to the true nature of your hatred for the finch. Good work. You get an English major stamp of approval.

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Amy, would rather watch “Hey Paula”

So, you see all this shit about Victoria Beckham on TV and the Internet? She’s the one who was “Posh Spice” in the Spice Girls (back in the day), married David Beckham, the soccer star…Well, they are giving her her own TV show, “Coming to America” and they’re blowing up the net with photos and media bullshit about her photo shoot….blah blah blah…….

Excuse me for a minute, but since when did anybody give a rat’s ass?? She’s just some snobby annoying 90’s pop singer who married into some money, and we’re supposed to be enthralled with her every move? I would rather listen to them talk about Lindsay Lohan’s rehab adventures or Pantyless Paris…..jeez…….

Rantasaurus Says: Actually, Amy, according to the very reliable news source, Us Weekly, that came in the mail yesterday, 39% of Americans care, okay?

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BoggyWoggy, don’t mess with our doggies

We have 3 large dogs. We live outside city limits in a neighborhood of 1/3 acre-plus sized lots.

One night, while out dining on our deck with guests, our next-door neighbor showed up with some contraption he’d purchased on the Internet. In front of our guests, he explained that our barking dogs were bothering him so much that he wanted to share a “solution.”

I said, “I didn’t know our dogs were barking.”

He said, “They bark when you aren’t home. It’s gotten to the point of insanity, ’cause they bark at me while I’m trying to mow my lawn and it’s really bugging me.”

I said, “I didn’t know they were barking when we weren’t home. I guess since we’re not home when it happens, we had no idea there was a problem.”

He said, “It’s been going on for years.”

Anyway, he’d purchased an anti-barking machine. He wanted to hang it on our fence. I said, “What does it do?”

He said, “When a dog barks, it lets out a horrible, high-pitched noise. This stops the barking.” He then demonstrated the noise. We all cringed and held our hands over our ears.

I said, “But, we have 3 dogs!”

He said, “Yeah, I know. So what?”

I said, “Well, idiot, if one dog barks, the machine will emit the horrid sound. If the others dogs are, say, chewing on their butts at the time, they’ll begin to believe that chewing on their butts makes the machine blast, so then they’ll stop chewing on their butts and be miserable, with itchy butts they cannot scratch!”

Freakin’ neighbor looks at me and says, “Huh?”

Then I said, “It’s basic psychology, Mr. ___! Don’t you EVEN hang that machine on our fence!” He walked away, scratching his head.

That night, I went on the Internet and purchased a machine that makes a horrid sound whenever any assholes approach our house.

Rantasaurus Says: – emits unbearably loud, high-pitched sound –

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Manticore, hardcore soft-drinker 

Once upon a time you could purchase a bottle of your favorite soft drink, look under the cap, and realize that YOU’RE A WINNER. With the occasional disappointment of a PLEASE PLAY AGAIN you had fairly good odds of at least winning a new soda, or maybe even a discount towards a new soda.

Now it seems like many items (and not just soft drinks) give you a ‘special code’ that you can enter onilne to unlock wondrous prizes and earn points!!!! You go to the website, give them your information, promise them your first born child, and then you can get a piddling number of points towards your points total. And then once you have enough points, you can have them MAIL you a coupon.

The bottle cap? Trash. The envelope? Trash. The money they spent on the stamp? Gone (at least to them). Wouldn’t it be far simplier to just let me win by opening the danged bottle? The cap has a dual purpose – cap and prize!

Only after drinking a gerbillion drinks could you use your points towards anything that wasn’t just another soft drink. I find the whole premise of giving me some number that makes me look something up online that is just a ploy for you to get my mailing address and to send me stupid junk mail idiotic. I just want my free drink! Or even nothing, really, the tempation to jump through these stupid hoops just isn’t worth the eventual free drink I may one day get if I ask for the coupon to be mailed and then actually use it.

Rantasaurus Says: Dear Manticore, here at Cola Corp, we hear and understand your frustrations. That is why we’ve enclosed the following customer service request form, to be detatched and mailed back to us. After this, we will mail you a customer service problem description form and you will be one step closer to have your voice heard! Thank you for drinking Cola Corp, goodbye.

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